&nbsp Abb. Look where the eastern window proudly throws
A stream of crimson light, when ev'ning's gloom
Enshrouds all else—in token of respect
To him who sleeps below. Did not the chill
Of age, perhaps of death, benumb my limbs,
My watchful feet, accustomed to the path,
Had led me to the spot.

&nbsp Aus. 'Tis here.

&nbsp Abb. Alas!
There then at rest lies he, the brave, the young,
And oh! for kingly shame, for kingly woe,
The murdered, the betrayed.

&nbsp Aus. Nought save the wind, which tired of being pent
Within these cloistered aisles, and heavy made
By penitential sighs, doth sullen moan
For liberty, and free access to heaven.

&nbsp Abb. 'Tis hushed, whate'er it was. Now listen, Austin:—
When 'gainst the legions of the Saracen
The hearts of knights with holy ardour burned,
And kings and nobles left their native land,
The young Montalbert, fav'rite of his prince,
Joined those heroic ranks.

&nbsp Aus. Montalbert! he
Of whom tradition speaks a royal damsel
Viewed with eyes of love?

&nbsp Abb. Alas! here secretly
Their marriage vows were pledged.

&nbsp Aus. He fell in fight.

&nbsp Abb. Oh! would that it were so. Come nigher, Austin.
That marriage was discovered to the monarch,
And pride, primeval sin of men and angels,
Betrayed the kingly mind, and he—

&nbsp Aus. Why pause?

&nbsp Abb. It is a dreadful thing, my son, to drag
Forgotten crime to light, and turn aside
The veil which time hath drawn o'er guilt in pity.
Montalbert secretly was sent to France
On private embassy.—He sought his bride!
His steps were tracked—beneath these walls he fell,
Here breathed his parting groan.

&nbsp Aus. Hark! midnight strikes!

&nbsp Abb. Beneath this stone his cold remains were laid,
In stately armour clad, as he desired,
That he might lie, as warrior ought to lie,
Prepared at once to start again to life,
When the last trump shall sound. All save his sword,
All in this grave, name, honours, wrongs, revenge,
Were buried deep.

&nbsp Aus. Why not his sword?

&nbsp Abb. The screen
Which darkens life ofttimes unveils futurity;
And simple dying men have proved true prophets.
"This sword," he cried, to our good, weeping father,
"First won from holiest tomb in Palestine,
Hath earnest reaped of glorious deeds to come.
Darkness shall cover France: in that her hour
Of utmost peril, blood of mine shall claim it,
And with it work deliverance. Where it lies
Let none ere know, save those who shall succeed thee."
His wish has been obeyed.

&nbsp Aus. How of his race?

&nbsp Abb. He left a babe—its fate unknown to me.

&nbsp Aus. What greater need than that which now afflicts us?

&nbsp Abb. I have not laid me down to rest, for months,
Without impatient hope I might be called,
Before night visited again these walls,
To yield the sacred weapon.

&nbsp Val. This: in the king's name,
We here demand a sword which in the keeping
Of this house has long been held.

&nbsp Abb. Wherefore claimed?

&nbsp Val. In faith of one, a wondrous maid, who says
She is decreed to save the country.

&nbsp Abb. What proof
Produced of such a mission?

&nbsp Val. This with others—
She has in private told the prince a fact,
Known to himself alone, and challenges
Production of this sword, as pledge and proof
Of her authority.

&nbsp Abb. Of noble birth
The maid?

&nbsp Val. Most humble.

&nbsp Aus. Crushed the rising hope
Of near deliverance.

&nbsp Abb. And why? Faint heart,
Why doubt that noble blood doth show itself,
Though severed from its fount by laspe of years?
Hast thou ne'er marked the far and devious course
Of proudest rivers, borne from highest mountain,
Now lost midst rocks; now over beds impure,
Slow, sluggish seen; now hidden from all sight,
And only heard in murmurs low beneath
The shade of dark, impervious boughs; and now
So shallow found, that urchin foot dare tempt
Its depth, and laughing overleap its banks;
Then sudden bursting forth, and scorning bounds,
It pours its sparkling waters in a flood,
Spreads its wide bosom to the smiling sun,
The pride and wonder of the land it feeds?

&nbsp Val. We wait impatient thy reply, good father.
Is there such weapon in these walls?

&nbsp Abb. There is:—
And knowledge of the fact attests the mission
Heaven's work. See where the holy weapon lies,
Beneath yon massy stone.

Chorus of Monks.

Spring from thy resting-place, sword of the brave!
Arm the deliv'rer's hand, destined to save—France calls on thee.

Chorus of Soldiers.

Give it rejoicing light—see! it is ours.—
Now we defy the foe—England's great pow'rs!—France shall be free.